


blame it on the boys

by sarahyyy



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arthur holds grudges like woah, Arthur is a minx, Eames has blueballs, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Eames," Yusuf says sharply, "are you having sex hallucinations about Arthur?"</p><p>Or, the one where Eames' sex hallucinations of Arthur are giving him a serious case of blueballs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blame it on the boys

Eames is minding his own business, having just stole a cigarette in the storeroom, when Arthur waltzes in, cages Eames against the shelves lining the wall and stares at him.

Eames holds his breath, mindful because he knows Arthur hates it when he steals away for cigarette breaks in between briefings. "Did I, uh, do something wrong?"

Arthur doesn't say a thing, just keeps staring at Eames and Eames is so startled by this point that all he can do is to backtrack his steps and think of what he must have done to incur Arthur's wrath. He comes up with nothing but that can't be it, can it? Arthur always does things for a reason. Eames has seen Arthur turn down fantastic jobs that were stupidly easy and handsomely paid because he couldn't find enough _reasons_ to do it.

"Is this about Beijing?" Eames asks, voice incredulous. "Because if it's about Beijing, I've apologized at least ten thousand times for running away with your cut of the money. I told you that it wasn't personal. I took everyone else's money too! And it's been _seven_ years since Beijing, and why the fuck aren't you over it yet?" 

Arthur's brows furrow. "Shut up, Eames," he growls, and then he kisses Eames. 

For a long moment, Eames doesn't move. His brain seems to have fused out and the only thing he can register — _is_ registering now— seems to be _fuck fuck fuck_ and _Arthur's tongue is in my mouth_ and _this can't be about Beijing_. 

He's only just started to notice that he is making some embarrassing, whimpering noise and grinding his erection down against Arthur's thigh (Arthur is doing the same, _Jesus Christ_ ) when Arthur pulls away, smoothes his shirt down and walks out of the storeroom.

"What," Eames says, slowly enunciating each syllable, "the fuck?"

\--

Eames makes a beeline straight for Arthur when he finally makes himself presentable enough to come out of the storeroom twenty minutes later.

"What was that?" he growls into Arthur's ear.

Arthur arches an eyebrow. "What was what, Mr. Eames?"

"That… That _thing_ in the storeroom," Eames clarifies. "What was that?"

Arthur's look is an adorable mix of annoyance and confusion. "Am I missing something here?"

Eames stares at him.

"Is it the model for the second level?" Arthur asks finally, after a pregnant pause. "Is it bothering your practice? I can get Lee to remove it."

"It's not the bloody model!" Eames cries, frustrated. "It's the—" And then a lightbulb goes off in Eames' head. "This is a test."

"I'm sorry?"

Eames laughs. "It's a test!" 

"Mr. Eames," Arthur grits out, " _what_ is a test?"

Eames smirks at him and leans down so his lips graze pass the shell of Arthur's ear. "I didn't come."

Arthur pulls away, looking irritated. "You didn't come _where_?"

 _Specificity_ , Eames thinks, _I can do specificity_. 

" _Anywhere_ ," he purrs. 

Arthur just continues to stare at Eames as though Eames has gone completely mad. "Are you feeling okay, Eames?" Arthur asks, concerned. And then he presses the back of his hand to Eames' forehead, as though he's trying to gauge Eames' temperature. 

Eames stares at Arthur, not knowing if he wants to lean into the touch more or if he wants to pull away affronted. He coughs, instead, and makes some excuse about needing to tail the mark and makes a swift retreat. 

The words _fuck, I am in so much trouble_ loop through his head.

\--

This is the thing: two days ago, when Eames was tailing the mark up the seedy motel the mark meets his mistress in every Tuesday, the mark had almost discovered Eames. In his haste to not let the mark catch a glimpse of him, Eames had taken a fall down the staircase and bumped his head. 

Yusuf wanted to bring in someone to give Eames a checkup, in case he had a concussion or something, but Eames brushed him off because, really, it's just a bump and he's been through worse and he is absolutely _fine_.

Except...

He doesn't really feel fine now.

He'd just had a hallucination of Arthur. A sexy hallucination of Arthur making out with him. 

He makes an appointment with a doctor.

\--

He comes back with a clean bill of health and feeling a bit saner. _Stress_ , the doctor had said. He was feeling stressed. All Eames had to do was to stop putting so much pressure on himself (the mark's mistress had legs that were ridiculously difficult to forge) and eat regular meals and he would stop having weird hallucinations about Arthur.

He is still smiling when he walks into the warehouse. His grin widens when he realizes that everyone is out. He really needs to get started on forging himself a club membership where the mark's mistress frequents.

He is still working awhile later, when Arthur comes back.

"Just you?" Eames asks.

Arthur snorts. "Thank you, Eames. I feel deeply appreciated."

Eames laughs. "No offense meant. Where's Lee and Grace?"

Arthur visibly shudders. "Thai restaurant down the block. Only venture there if your heart is strong."

"They're still going at it?" Eames asks around a laugh. "I've have thought that your lecture would make them more subtle with their affections."

"Evidently," Arthur says, "outside of work hours, I have no say in whether or not Grace can stick her tongue in Lee's mouth. That's a direct quote, by the way."

Eames grins. "It could have been worse," he says. 

Arthur raises his eyebrows and then, oh God, and then he says, "Would you consider me wanting to suck you off as better or as worse?"

Eames' jaw drops. "Sorry?"

Arthur drops to his knees. Eames chokes on air.

Arthur wastes no time in getting Eames' fly open, getting Eames' cock out and getting his mouth on Eames' cock.

 _Arthur's_ mouth on _Eames'_ cock. 

Arthur's _mouth_ on Eames' _cock_.

Eames goes from terribly confused to terribly terrified to terribly aroused in a matter of seconds. "Arthur, darling," he gasps out, keeping himself as still as he can, not daring to buck his hips up, "is this about, _shit_ , about that time in— _Christ, do that again, love_. About that time in Mumbai?" Arthur's finger brush past his balls gently and Eames curses again. "Because, darling, if you're trying to take revenge, I don't see how this is effective."

Arthur pulls off Eames' cock for long enough to growl, "Shut up, Eames."

"But darling," Eames starts and can't pick up his sentence because Arthur does this thing with his hands and his tongue together and Eames doesn't have that kind of willpower to continue thinking. "So close," he moans, instead.

Which is, apparently, the wrong thing to say because Arthur pulls away, gets back up on his feet and walks out of the warehouse, leaving Eames still slumped in his chair with his pants open and cock red and straining, wet with precome and Arthur's saliva.

" _Bloody buggering Christ_ ," Eames groans. 

\--

"Do you hear me, Yusuf?" Eames cries. "I'm going fucking mental!"

Yusuf snorts. "That's not new."

"I'm having hallucinations," Eames repeats, "Did you put anything in my food?"

Yusuf raises both his eyebrows curiously. "What sort of hallucinations?" he asks. 

"That's private," Eames says huffily. 

"It could be crucial to figuring out what's wrong with you."

Eames' scowl deepens. "Arthur."

"You've been hallucinating about Arthur?" At Eames' nod, he continues. "What sort of hallucinations?"

Eames barely suppresses his shiver. "Bad, _bad_ hallucinations."

Yusuf frowns. "Does he torture you in your hallucinations?"

"What?" Eames asks, incredulous. "No! Of course he doesn't. Why would he be torturing me in my hallucinations?"

Yusuf's frown deepens. "Then why are your hallucinations bad?"

"Arthur does _things_ in them," Eames says. "Things that you would never see him do in reality."

"Eames," Yusuf says sharply, "are you having _sex hallucinations_ about Arthur?"

Eames is quiet.

" _Eames_."

Eames nods.

Yusuf laughs. "It's a sign you need to get laid. And fast."

"Or, I could be going mad because you put something in my food," Eames insists.

"Oh, trust me," Yusuf says with a smirk, "when I put something in your food, you'll know it." 

\--

The Internet isn't really helpful. 

Eames posts his predicament on a forum (triple checks to confirm that the IP address doesn't trace back to him) and gets answers like _u lucky dawg_ and _roll with it, bro_ and _it'll get worse before it gets better, trust me_ , all of which are not really making him feel optimistic.

He does some more research, this time forgoing the forums and heading straight to the legitimate websites on psychology and they tell him that he's 1) too stressed, or 2) has an obsession with Arthur. 

Which, okay. He doesn't need the Internet to tell him things he already knows.

He's about to chalk the whole "research on the Internet" plan up as a failed plan when he gets an email notification saying that Anonymous has replied to his question on the forum.

 _What if it isn't all in your head? What if you aren't hallucinating?_

Eames stares at the words for a long moment before he starts cackling. 

_Impossible_ , he replies. 

But because 1) there is a higher power conspiring against him, and 2) a fully formed idea is the most resilient parasite (Cobb may be a nutjob but at least he pitches well), Eames' mind keeps going back to the anonymous reply.

Logically, he knows that the chances of him being sextacked (don't judge him, he's been talking to Ariadne, who hasn't been any help, what with her actually rolling off her bed laughing) by Arthur is really slim. But he's seen some pretty odd things in life, and really, stranger things have happened.

Okay, not really, but whatever. He's been driving himself half mad (with lust) trying to figure things out, and if his hallucinations (or not, according to Anonymous) don't stop, he's going to do something ridiculously stupid like maul Arthur on a job or something. 

He figures he should tell Arthur about this problem. Arthur will probably know what is wrong with him and how to fix it, because knowing everything is part of his job description. 

Eames ponders over the idea through his shower. At best, Arthur will confess that he has been secretly harbouring a crush on Eames and has been sextacking him in hopes that Eames will make his move, and then Eames will be able to do dirty, dirty things to Arthur; at worst, Arthur will rip his balls off.

Well, his mother did always tell him that he only dealt in extremities. 

He's only just come out of the bathroom, towel still wrapped snugly around his waist when he sees Arthur sitting on the edge of his bed. Eames doesn't jump, but it's a near thing.

"Uh, Arthur."

Arthur smirks at him, filthy and sexy, and Eames wants to do all manner of dirty things to him. He takes two steps back instead, and clutches tightly at his towel, like the flimsy towel is enough to protect him from this insanity. "I'll just," Eames says, frazzled, "go put on some clothes, yeah?"

Arthur stands from the bed. "Or," he suggests, smirk growing, "you could just drop the towel." 

Eames swallows.

Arthur starts walking towards him and Eames knows he should run back into the bathroom and lock the door and pray to all that is good and holy that his hallucination of Arthur doesn't kick the bathroom door down, but he doesn't, because he _can't_. He's rooted in place, staring as Arthur comes to a halt in front of him. 

"I'd really be more comfortable if I had more clothes on," Eames manages to say. 

"Lucky for you, your comfort is not one of my priorities," Arthur replies, and then, _Jesus Christ_. And then he licks a broad stripe up Eames' chest. 

Eames doesn't really know what happened in the next few seconds, minutes, which should really tell him a lot about his level of sanity, but then he's on his back on the bed, his towel gone, and his cock wrapped in the firm grip of Arthur's hand.

"Shit, darling," Eames pants as Arthur runs his thumb over his slit. "I think- _Fuck_. I think I'm losing my sanity."

Arthur snorts. "That would require you to be in possession of sanity in the first place," he says dryly, and fuck, even in Eames' hallucinations, Arthur sounds exactly the way he's supposed to sound. 

"I think it's karma," Eames continues, trying to thrust into Arthur's hand, but not being able to because Arthur has his hips pinned now, "because of the Manila job?"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "I just can't get you to shut up, can't I? Not when I'm giving a briefing, not when I'm giving you a fucking handjob." 

Eames laughs breathily before he lets out a groan. "Like that, pet," he breathes. "It feels great. You're gonna make me come, pet." And Eames means it as encouragement, positive reinforcements and all that, but Arthur takes it as his cue to remove himself from Eames' bed.

"What-"

Arthur smirks at him, brings his hand up, licks Eames' precome off his palm, and then walks out of the room. 

Eames stares at the door as it slams shut before he starts cursing.

\--

"-going _mental_ , Yusuf, madder than the Hatter, absolutely stark raving mad, do you bloody understand me? Do you even see the severity of the situation here? I'm either going to lose my mind or lose my balls!" 

Yusuf cackles. "I don't see why you can't jerk off to your hallucinations."

Eames blinks at the phone for a long moment, actually considering the idea, then his conscience gets the better of him and he yells, "Because that's bloody immoral, Yusuf!" 

"You've done worse," Yusuf reasons. "It's not like you're doing something wrong, just jerking off to a fantasy. Stuff like that happens. I've had a few dreams about Ari-"

" _Woah_ ," Eames interjects. "I do not want to know."

Yusuf snorts. "You just won't jerk off to Arthur because you're scared that he will actually rip your dick off if he finds out. Let the hallucinations ride out, mate." Yusuf laughs at Eames' strangled groan. "Bad choice of words, sorry. Uh, hang in there? Hallucinations pass, like all things do."

Eames doesn't say anything, just breathes raggedly into the phone. 

"You're hard just thinking about him riding you, aren't you?" Yusuf deduces correctly. 

"I hate you," Eames says with feeling, and hangs up.

\--

Later that night, Eames snaps and storms out of his hotel room, making his way to Arthur's. 

The door to Arthur's hotel suite creaks open, unlocked, when Eames tries to knock. Immediately Eames reaches for his gun, alert. Arthur is normally careful, and the chances of him leaving his hotel room door unlocked is slim to none. 

"Arthur?" Eames calls out.

He hears a muffled moan in reply. 

Eames runs through the possibilities as he makes his way to the bedroom: 1) Arthur is injured and tied up and gagged, or.

 _Or_.

Or Arthur could be on his bed, fingering himself.

Eames chokes on his breath. 

He knows he should turn away, knows he should at least close his eyes or something, but he can't. It's like watching a train wreck. Only better. Because Arthur is naked in bed, and has two fingers inside himself, and Eames can't look away, is already hard from just looking at Arthur.

"Fuck, Eames, what're you doing there?" Arthur moans from his bed. "Get over here, you dumbass."

Eames lets out a gurgle.

" _Eames_ ," Arthur grits out. "Eames, _get over here_."

Eames throws his clothes off, and is in Arthur's bed in record time. 

\--

Much later, a drowsy, sated Arthur announces, "This is about Greece."

Eames makes a face. "Greece as in twelve years ago, our first job together?"

Arthur nods against his shoulder.

Eames backtracks, tries to think about the undoubtedly horrible things he must have done in Greece but comes up blank. "I didn't even do anything in Greece!" he cries.

Arthur lifts his head up from Eames' shoulder long enough to glare at him. "You lied to me. Or, at the very least, misled me into believing you were not interested in men.

Eames stares at him. "What."

"I was nineteen," Arthur tells him, "having a sexuality crisis because of you-"

"Wait. Was that why you looked so constipated the whole job?" Eames asks, frowning.

Arthur glares at him, but continues, "And when I finally summoned enough courage to ask if you wanted to fuck, you rejected me and led me to believe that you weren't into men."

Eames' jaw drops. "What. Wait. When did that happen? _Did_ that even happen?"

Arthur rolls his eyes, impatient. "After the job, I asked if you wanted to go back to my room for coffee. You gave me your most pitying look and told me you only drank tea."

"Wait. What."

"I was devastated," Arthur tells him.

"What."

"I cried to Mal the whole night," Arthur continues as though he can't hear Eames, "I had a whole sexuality crisis for nothing."

Eames blinks, and then tries to speak, but manages only a gurgle. 

"And then on our second job together, in Manila? You hooked up with the architect, what's-his-name," Arthur says, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. "I was fucking furious.

"What," Eames says. "I wasn't- I didn't- Christ. Love, you looked _fifteen_ ," he cries. "I thought you were really asking me up for coffee! I really meant that I only drank tea. I didn't know you meant coffee as a bloody euphemism!"

Arthur smirks. "I figured that out later. Much, much later. I had a really fun time hating you."

"Fuck," Eames says with feeling. "I could have been doing this twelve years ago."

Arthur's smirk grows. "I think it's only right that you owe me a lot of orgasms."

Eames lips tip up in a predatory grin. "That, darling, I can definitely do," he purrs, and then rolls them over for round two.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Mika's "Blame it on the Girls".


End file.
